


Brushstrokes

by the_genderman



Category: Star Wars Sequel Trilogy
Genre: Armitage Hux is Not Nice, Brendol Hux's A+ Parenting, But they're still both manipulative, Calligraphy, Cannoli Kylux, Fade to Black, Getting Together, Kylo Ren is Not Nice, Kylo does not ask permission he just does what he wants, M/M, Mentions of past child abuse, Non-Consensual Kissing, Pre-Star Wars: The Force Awakens, Soulmates, see notes - Freeform, surprisingly soft kylux, they work it out
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-17
Updated: 2020-12-17
Packaged: 2021-03-10 17:27:11
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,394
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28120860
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/the_genderman/pseuds/the_genderman
Summary: Not everyone has a soulmate, but for those who do, their soulmate’s handwriting appears on their skin, blooming and fading in a cycle until they meet and finalize their bond (however they see fit). Armitage Hux has known since his 8th birthday that he has a soulmate. That in itself is bad enough in the eyes of his father, but when it becomes apparent to teenage Armitage that his soulmate is a Jedi? It’s mortifying. If anyone finds out, he’ll be far worse than humiliated. He covers himself from head to toe to hide.Kylo Ren has known he was not one of the lucky ones to have a soulmate. He’s never seen so much as a single letter appear anywhere on his skin. One time he thought he saw something, but it turned out to be just a bruise; nothing unusual for an active boy. He was disappointed, but it was probably for the best. A Jedi was not supposed to have attachments, and a soulmate is, by its very definition, an attachment. No longer a Jedi, he still feels like there’s something he’s missing, and it bothers him that he doesn’t know what it is or where to begin looking.Hux hopes he’ll never meet his soulmate, Kylo doesn’t know he has a soulmate to meet—what will happen when they do?
Relationships: Armitage Hux/Kylo Ren
Comments: 8
Kudos: 129





	Brushstrokes

**Author's Note:**

  * For [AshGunnywolf](https://archiveofourown.org/users/AshGunnywolf/gifts).



> Fic inspired by a tweet from AshGunnywolf (@goth_gunnywolf on Twitter):  
> “This makes me think of that soulmate AU where your soulmate’s handwriting appears on your skin. Hux never had any need to learn handwriting, he can type and use his fingerprint as a signature, so Kylo thinks he doesn’t have a soulmate. Hux is very aware that he has a soulmate.”
> 
> Fic starts out with mentions of Armitage’s childhood and it’s… well, it’s Armitage’s childhood. But that part is pretty brief as we jump to the present. If reading about Brendol’s parenting is upsetting, please skip to Paragraph Two. Please skip to Paragraph Five if his childhood at all is upsetting. You will miss a little bit of backstory, though, but the fic can be read entirely in the present-day without losing out on too much.

The first, crooked letters had appeared on Armitage’s right forearm on his eighth birthday. He had watched, transfixed, as they bloomed on his skin. His father had caught him staring at his arm, saw what he was looking at, and grabbed his son by the wrist. No Hux had ever had a soulmate before, and that kind of nonsense wasn’t about to start now. The very concept of a _soulmate_ was sentimental trash. Every time a word had appeared on his skin where anyone could see it and know what it meant, his father had beaten him. He had quickly learned to cover himself so no one—not his father, not _himself_ —would see those damning marks.

When Armitage was fifteen, his soulmarks changed. Where before they had been thin, scratchy like they had been written by a stylus or pen, they were now liquid. Tentative and shaky, as if they were being painted by a beginner, but they were undeniably brushstrokes. Calligraphy. There were so few people who practiced calligraphy anymore, and horror gripped him by the gut. He dressed quickly to hide the marks, and slipped away to conduct a little research. What he found only deepened the sick feeling. This was _Jedi_ calligraphy. How could his soulmate be his _enemy_?

Armitage was torn. He tried his hardest not to look, but sometimes, when sentimentality gripped him—the idea that someone out there could _want_ him—he might find himself rolling up a sleeve or a pant leg to look for the flowing lines. His soulmate’s calligraphy was getting better, more fluid. More beautiful. He thought, if he had been born outside of the Imperial Remnant, he might be able to appreciate it. Instead, it only served as yet another reminder of everything the New Republic had stolen from him. Knowing he had a soulmate, knowing that his soulmate was his enemy, how could he possibly think about settling down with anyone else? They would always know they weren’t meant for him, nor he for them.

As he grew older and more closed off, he only ever saw the soulmarks anymore when he showered or changed for bed. Catching them appearing, darkening like a bruise, made his stomach turn. Catching them fading out like dissipating smoke gave him a brief reprieve until the next one appeared again. If he took a lover for a night, he had them blindfolded so they would never know. So many years of hiding his skin and feeling that acrid fear rising in him like bile whenever he saw that tell-tale bloom on his skin, as contrasting as ink on paper. Armitage’s father had always said he was as thin as a slip of paper and just as useless. He might have grown past being called ‘useless,’ top of his class in the Academy and the youngest General in the First Order, but he still found himself marked like paper on a regular basis.

It was Armitage Hux’s twenty-eighth birthday. He had no intention of celebrating the day, as his birth had been no cause for joy. He acknowledged that it was occurring, his age advancing, measured in standard revolutions of a planet he might never set foot on, but he did not celebrate it. He climbed out of bed as the lights rose, waking him for another day of duty to the First Order. He hadn’t seen a soulmark in almost a month, and with the news of the recent destruction of the Jedi Temple receding further with the passing days, he hoped he might never see one again. He would rather have his soulmate dead than a Jedi. Was it a cruel thought? Perhaps. But so too was it cruel that the universe, the Force, or whatever controlled the idea of soulmates, had chosen to bind him to one of his sworn enemies.

Life, however, seemed determined to be cruel to him. As Hux toweled off after his shower—as a general, he was allowed a water shower in his quarters rather than a sonic or, worse yet, to have to use one of the shared sonics of the grunts and troopers—he saw the lines bleeding into life just below his right clavicle. His legs wobbled, nearly giving out. He caught himself on the counter to steady himself, staring at the letters reversed in his mirror. The calligraphy was slightly shaky, but perhaps that could be expected if any of the Jedi had survived the razing of their temple and the decimation of their ancient religion. He didn’t bother to try to decipher the word, it didn’t matter to him. All he knew was that his soulmate was alive and he might never be free of them. He left the refresher and dressed as quickly as he could, trying to remember his breathing exercises to steady himself. Snoke had called him the previous evening to tell him that he was getting a co-commander. He didn’t much appreciate the idea that he wasn’t capable of commanding his ship on his own, but the Supreme Leader’s word was law.

Making sure his uniform was as spotless and impeccably pressed as ever, Hux adjusted his greatcoat and prepared himself to meet his new co-commander. The only thing he knew about the man was that he was a Force-user who had been nicknamed ‘Jedi-Killer,’ and he had usurped the Knights of Ren from their former master mere days after joining the band of marauders. Snoke spoke highly of his promise. Hux merely hoped that he would be amenable to sharing, because there was no way under the stars he would ever cede control of his ship to anyone, even— _especially_ —Snoke’s new protégé. He didn’t want to have to kill Snoke’s apprentice just yet; he wanted to live to see the completion and use of the superweapon he was designing.

If there was anything positive about the soulmark appearing this morning, Hux thought, it was that he wouldn’t be surprised by it later, and that it would be well-hidden. Once, the brushstrokes had appeared on his neck, just peeking over his collar. He had had to play that off as a bruise, which started an unfortunate rumor that he enjoyed some… _deviant_ extra-curricular activities. Not entirely incorrect, but not something he needed getting around. On that thought, Hux adjusted his collar just a little higher and stepped out the door of his quarters.

\--------------------------

Kylo Ren did not have a soulmate. He had never had so much as a single letter—not even a line—appear on his skin. Once, when he was thirteen, he thought he had seen the beginning of a soulmark, but it had turned out to be simply the beginning of a bruise the size and shape of a thumbprint. _Hardly_ any form of writing. That was fine for a Jedi padawan, because learning about a soulmate after entering the temple would have made for a rather awkward attachment. He was twenty-three years old now—plenty old enough for his soulmate, if they existed, to have been born and begun writing already. He oughtn’t to let it bother him—most people didn’t have soulmates, and having one would mean he’d have to _share_ his plans for his future—but something just didn’t feel right. Maybe, if he hadn’t become so well-attuned to the Force, he might not have noticed the little hollow feeling—it was nearly imperceptible. Not a sucking maelstrom, but simply a feeling like the pull of a distant star’s gravity, subtly drawing him.

He had learned to ignore it, to some degree. He was always aware of it, residing at the back of his skull, but he could usually calm his mind and force himself to ignore the feeling. But as the shuttle bore him closer and closer to the Finalizer, the ship he was to serve as co-commander of, Kylo felt the hollow beginning to awaken again. Probably just nerves. He shouldn’t _have_ nerves, not after everything he’d done, but what else could it be? He wished he’d had time to meditate before this meeting with his co-commander-to-be. He’d had time for one calligraphic exercise this morning, but that, while calming, was hardly enough.

Snoke could be quite cryptic when it suited him. All Kylo knew about the commander of the Finalizer was his name and rank—General Armitage Hux. He didn’t know what he looked like, didn’t know his personality, didn’t even know his age. Snoke was more than capable of shielding his mind from being read, and he seemed to relish in keeping Kylo in the dark about the man, going so far as to wait until the night before to even reveal his name so he wouldn’t have time to do any research of his own. Perhaps Snoke didn’t want to introduce any bias before the two met. Perhaps he simply enjoyed watching his apprentice squirm. Whatever the reasoning, their meeting was quickly approaching. The shuttle’s wings began to fold as it drew slowly into the hangar. Kylo turned his mask over in his hands. Presented to him upon his succession as the master of the Knights of Ren, he wasn’t quite used to wearing it yet. Should he? It might do well to hide his age from his co-commander, as the stodgy ex-Imperials he had met so far had sneered at his youth and lack of experience. Not for _long_ , mind, but they had. Of course, it might do well to use his youth to his advantage. Throw the general off, make him wonder how he could have risen to this position so young, what terrible things could he have done to have earned him the Supreme Leader’s grace.

The shuttle jolted a little as it came to rest in the hangar and Kylo made his decision. He swept off the shuttle, met his attendants for the day, and ordered one of them to take his mask and things to his quarters. He wished to meet his co-commander first; he could be given the tour of the ship after that. The most important thing was that first impression.

\-------------------

Hux forced himself not to stare, but he still felt like he had been seen. Either by Snoke, by his new co-commander, or both. He couldn’t afford to show weakness, but he wanted to stare. The man was could hardly be out of his teenage years, he looked so young. Not that Hux was particularly old himself, but everything about this Kylo Ren screamed youth and inexperience, despite his accomplishments. There was a naïveté under the surface, under the beauty and the anger. Hux sighed. There. He’d said it. His co-commander was undeniably beautiful, despite the lack of attention to his personal image. His tunic looked like it hadn’t been washed in at least a week. His cowl was torn, pocked with holes. His hair was far longer than regulation, falling in loose waves around his face. His eyes, when not narrowed in anger, were the kind sung about in terrible love-ballads, large and dark and expressive. He could charm you, then snap your neck in a fit of rage.

Kylo Ren, Hux thought, could either be his greatest ally or his greatest enemy. These next few days would determine everything. He would have to carefully feel out what kind of arrangement they would have together.

\----------------------

One thing Kylo’s Jedi training had done for him was accustom him to austerity. His quarters on the Finalizer were sparse. He had four small rooms—a front room, for entertaining guests or underlings, a tiny kitchenette, a bedroom, and a refresher. This, he thought, did not fall under the purview of austerity. Everything in here was his own, all his own. He wouldn’t have to share if he didn’t choose to. He might not have many things to fill the space with, but it was _his_ space to do with what he chose. The first thing to be done would be to set up his desk and prepare a corner of the room for his meditation. Then he could finally settle in, get a feel for the ship and the people on it. Get a feel for what he would need to do to find his footing on his path to power.

His co-commander was… surprising, to say the least. Everything about General Hux was tightly controlled, from his posture to his uniform to the way he spoke, as if he were trying to hide an embarrassing native accent under his clipped Imperial tones. Kylo wondered where he was originally from, how he had become a general of the First Order so young. According to the minimal profile he had been able to access on the datapad he found on his desk, Armitage Hux was only twenty-eight and already a general. He had attended the Imperial Academy on Arkanis, which could account for a bit of an unwelcome accent, but his place of birth was left blank. Kylo slouched back into his chair and held the datapad propped up on his desk. He stared at the unflattering military headshot and wondered. 

A thought entered Kylo’s mind and he smirked. He wondered what it would take to get the general to break his façade. He was attractive enough, though his looks could probably be improved by messing up his severely gelled hair. Every time Kylo had looked over at the man during their first meeting, he had been filled with a desire to push his fingers through his hair and just _yank_. Oh, he could feel that Hux was intelligent, proud, hungry, resourceful, tenacious, as dangerous as a viper, but that just made Kylo want to dig deeper, find out who he was underneath his general’s greatcoat. He wasn’t sure what it was about Hux, but there was _something_ that drew Kylo to him. Kylo ought to be wary of him, treat him as an ambush predator, stalking and waiting for the right moment to strike at him, but Kylo was no prey animal to be intimidated by him. He’d show Hux his teeth, one way or another.

Closing out of the profile and sliding the datapad back into his desk drawer, Kylo rose to his feet and began to pace his quarters. Once he’d gotten everything he owned put away in their proper places, he’d figure out some excuse to see Hux after his shift this evening. He wanted to start get to know him better—and to make sure the general knew that he wasn’t going to be shunted aside because of his youth. Snoke had named them co-commanders, and he meant not to cede any of that ground.

\-----------------------------

Order, first and foremost. And to keep order, rules must be followed. Sometimes Hux didn’t always agree with or understand why some people or cultures had certain rules and rituals, but this seemed harmless enough. He had been asked to his co-commander’s quarters for a drink this evening. Nothing intoxicating, simply a ceremonial meeting over tea. They had already met officially this morning under Snoke’s watchful eye, but Ren had insisted on this as well. A quirk of Force-sensitives and their mysticism, he presumed. He could indulge Ren, and if he thought he might find it enjoyable to look at the man, that was simply a bonus.

Hux arrived at Ren’s quarters exactly on time and pressed the button next to the door to let him know his guest had arrived. After just a little longer than was polite to make him wait, the door slid open and Ren appeared.

“General,” Ren said simply, and stepped aside to allow Hux in.

Ren’s quarters were still quite plain, the walls bare, very little in the way of furniture or personal items, Hux thought, glancing surreptitiously around the dim room. He wondered if the lights were low out of Ren’s personal preference, or for whatever it was he had been invited to participate in. There was the standard-issue desk and what appeared to be a very non-standard inkwell on it, but nothing else. His datapad must have been put away. Good privacy practice, Hux thought. Keeps visitors from snooping. He wanted to snoop, but told himself that there probably wasn’t anything worth snooping into on the datapad yet. Save that until later. In the far corner there was a low narrow table, empty, and a woven mat that reminded him a little of the tiny shrine his birth mother had kept in her minuscule quarters back before the war had killed her and driven him from his homeworld. Hux wondered what kind of life Ren had lived before Snoke had brought him here. Snoke had been deliberately vague, speaking only of his accomplishments and his Force-sensitivity, not of his life—where he had been born, who his family had been, whether he had been raised in luxury or deprivation. Not even where or how he had been trained in the Force. There were so many questions Hux had, but he supposed they could wait.

“I’ll just be a minute, the water’s heating,” Ren said, handing Hux a cushion and bringing him back out of his study. “Put your coat in the closet. Sit wherever there’s room.”

With that, Ren disappeared into his kitchenette. Hux wondered briefly where the cushion had come from, but put that out of his head. He scanned the floor, assuming from the lack of chairs, that he was expected to set the cushion directly on the ground. Grimacing slightly, Hux chose a spot that would give him a direct view of the doorway to the kitchenette, hung up his greatcoat so it wouldn’t get rumpled, and settled down onto his cushion to wait. He sighed. Force-sensitives. What was so wrong with normal tables and chairs?

Reappearing with a tray, Ren set it down in front of Hux and collected a cushion of his own, sitting opposite him. Hux watched in silence as Ren, silent as well, measured out the leaves and poured the water. He had expected something fancier, something ancient and decorative, but the teapot was brand new standard-issue First Order in brushed chrome, and the cups looked like they had been swiped from one of the canteens. Perhaps they had been. The cup on Ren’s side of the tray was dented slightly, so they weren’t new, at any rate. 

When Ren decided his tea was properly steeped and gently spooned the leaves out, Hux did the same. Neither of them spoke, watching cautiously, not wanting to be the first one to blink. The tension in the air, sharp and prickly, contrasted sharply against the soft floral scent of the tea. They drank in silence. The tea was quite nice, Hux thought, even if it wasn’t a variety he would have chosen on his own. When he opened his mouth to speak, Ren preemptively shushed him and held up the teapot and another spoonful of tea leaves, silently offering him another cup. Hux pursed his lips, sure his anger was showing on his face, but he nodded and accepted the second cup. Maybe he ought to have said something anyway, to show Ren that he wasn’t going to bow to him, but there was still plenty of time in the evening to impress that upon him. He might as well wait and see where this was going and enjoy tea someone else had paid for.

\--------------------

“Leaving already?” Kylo asked as Hux set his empty cup down and made to rise. He wasn’t done trying to feel him out. There _was_ some kind of connection between them; he hadn’t figured out what yet, and he wasn’t about to let him leave before he had a better idea what was linking them together. He didn’t like the idea of having his fate tied to another person. Hux was nice enough to look at, but unless Kylo could win him over—and that seemed like it could be a difficult task—he would always present a potential danger to him.

“Merely stretching my legs,” Hux replied, looking down at Kylo as he got to his feet. Probably trying to establish dominance, Kylo thought. “Most meetings on this ship are conducted in actual chairs.”

“Well, I’m not most people on this ship,” Kylo retorted, rising smoothly to his feet as well. _And you’re not either, are you, General?_ he added silently to himself.

Kylo met Hux’s eyes and held contact. He stepped closer, into Hux’s personal space. They were roughly the same height, he had maybe a couple centimeters on Hux, but he was considerably broader than him. Hux was thin, like he hadn’t had enough to eat as a child and his body had acquiesced to never filling out his frame. He looked like, if Kylo wanted, he could snap him in half without breaking a sweat, but also like there was steel in his spine. He was difficult to read, but Kylo felt the pull, even stronger now that they were alone, without Snoke’s aggressive Force signature there to overlay his. He knew he found Hux attractive, and he thought Hux felt similarly about him, though he was trying his best to hide it. Had the Force brought them together? If so, he needed to know why. What role was this cold, repressed man to play in his life? He didn’t know the answer to that, but he did know what he wanted to do with him. He would get what he wanted and use Hux’s own feelings as leverage against him.

“No, you’re not,” Hux said cautiously. His voice had that warning tone in it; his words could be construed as positive, complimentary, but there was a sharpness behind them. He held his ground, despite the discomfort Kylo’s proximity elicited in him.

Hux would not be intimidated so easily. Kylo shifted his plans slightly. Feinting, pretending like he was going to collect the tray with its empty teapot and cups and return it to his kitchenette, Kylo instead twisted back and caught Hux by surprise. Burying his fingers in the front of his uniform tunic, he slammed him up against the wall. His other hand found its way to Hux’s jaw and then he was kissing him. It wasn’t a sentimental kiss, nor a romantic one. If Kylo wanted something, he simply took it, and he wanted Hux. 

Then Hux’s hands were on his chest, pushing him off. He was stronger than he looked, and Kylo stumbled back, pulling Hux’s tunic open as he went, unwilling to let go of him completely.

“What the kriff do you think you’re doing?!” Hux exploded as soon as his mouth was free again. He glared fire at Kylo as he began to undo the rest of his tunic’s fasteners so he could close it up again properly. “Try that again and I’ll cut your throat, Force or no Force.”

“Why? You want it as much as I do,” Kylo said, putting a hint of a laugh into his voice. Letting Hux know that he wouldn’t be intimidated, either. Though, to be fair, Kylo was probably fortunate that Hux was Force-null. If looks could kill, his throat would have been twisted shut already.

Hux merely snarled at him, then turned his attention back to his tunic. Unbuckling his belt, Hux allowed his tunic to fall all the way open, revealing his dog tags and gray undershirt with its low neckline beneath it. _And_ an unexpected dark… something—a tattoo?—under Hux’s collarbone, high contrast against his pale skin. It wasn’t Aurebesh, that was for certain. Kylo squinted, trying to make out what it said, then… his eyes went wide and he heard himself gasp. Hux’s expression changed, shifting smoothly from rage to bemusement.

Kylo couldn’t think of a single reason why a general of the First Order would have Jedi calligraphy permanently etched onto his body, much less the exact word he had chosen only this morning to help calm his mind before their meeting. Either it was a shocking coincidence, or that was a _soulmark_. He reeled. Nothing caught him off guard, and yet, here he was, caught very much off guard. That was _his_ writing on Hux’s chest. There was no way they could be soulmates—he didn’t have one, he’d never gotten a soulmark—but the writing was as plain as day. It had to be a mistake. He had to have accidentally transferred it to Hux somehow, because there was no way a _general_ could be illiterate. Kylo reached out again, much more slowly, telegraphing his movement, and gently pulled aside the strap of Hux’s undershirt so he could get a better look at the soulmark.

\--------

“Haven’t you ever seen a soulmark before?” Hux said drily, forcing his temper to return to baseline. He certainly wouldn’t forget what Ren had just done—just _tried_ to do—to him, but this was more interesting and more immediate. And, to his surprise, when Ren wasn’t forcing himself on him, he thought he _liked_ the touch of his fingers against his skin. It felt _right_.

“You’re lying, that can’t be your soulmark,” Ren said, though without the previous confidence behind his words.

“Why would I lie about it?” Hux said, tunic hanging open, forgotten for the moment. “What possible reason would I have to lie about having a soulmark? It’s never done me any good.”

“That’s _my_ writing!” Kylo snapped, sounding almost offended. He wheeled around, stalking over to his desk and pulling a drawer open. He stalked back and shoved a leaf of paper into Hux’s hands—actual _paper_ , not even flimsi. “I did this this morning, before I’d ever met you, before you’d met me. Tell me why you have my writing on your skin?”

Hux inhaled sharply. Assuming this wasn’t some trick, some set-up, he knew that calligraphy intimately. _Ren_ ’s writing on his skin for the past twenty years? “You were a Jedi?” he asked, not answering his question.

Ren glanced away like he was embarrassed, but he replied. “Yes. I was a Jedi. I’m not anymore, the Jedi were wrong and needed to die. So I gave them the deaths they deserved. But they trained me as one of theirs.” He stopped, met Hux’s eyes, and spoke again. “But if that’s your soulmark, then where’s mine? I don’t have one. You can’t have my writing if I don’t have yours.”

Hux blinked, taken aback. It had never occurred to him what his soulmate’s mark would be. He had been too ashamed, first of having a soulmate at all, and then by his soulmate being a Jedi, to consider what _they_ would have. He had never been taught to handwrite. Ever since he had begun to read, he had had a datapad in his hands, learning his letters on a screen. He had learned to _type_ , not write. Had he ever even held a pen in his life?

“Nothing? Nothing ever?” Hux asked, trying to understand how paired soulmarks worked. He’d never given it any thought beyond wishing his would stop appearing.

“Nothing!” Ren snapped. “And I find it difficult to believe you’ve never written anything in your life. I’m sure you’ve had to sign reports, or _something_ , in your position.”

“Datapads have a fingerprint scanner,” Hux replied automatically. “I don’t have a signature, just my thumbprint. I suppose I haven’t written anything in the way you mean, with pen or stylus or brush. Typing has always been more efficient and far more legible.”

“So if I gave you a pen and told you to write a word, any word, you wouldn’t be able to do it?” Ren asked, his anger fading again into confusion and curiosity. He walked over to his desk and pulled out a pen and a blank leaf of paper.

“If you gave me something to copy, I’m sure I could figure it out, but no, I was never trained to write like you clearly were,” Hux replied, watching him.

“But… thumbprint, you said?” Ren asked. He beckoned. “Come over here, I have more questions for you.”

Hux nodded, acknowledging that he had heard, but taking the time to finish fastening his tunic up again. He wasn’t about to be ordered around on his own ship, co-commander or not. _Soulmate_ or not.

“I know you wouldn’t use it on a datapad,” Ren continued, “but have you ever had your thumbprint taken in ink?”

Hux paused briefly to think. “Yes. When I was inducted into the Academy. They fingerprinted all of us, by both old-fashioned and modern means.”

Ren said nothing, but his eyebrows rose slightly and his expression changed, looking like he was pondering something. “It _could_ be,” he muttered.

Without warning, Ren pulled his cowl off and tossed it aside. Hux dodged out of its way, not wanting to have to touch the filthy thing if he didn’t have to. Ren then unbuckled his own belt and wriggled out of his tunic, standing bare-chested in the middle of his front room. It was highly irregular, and Hux would be tempted to say so, if the sight weren’t so… mesmerizing. Maybe this whole soulmates deal wasn’t so bad after all.

“Give me your hand,” Ren ordered, holding out his hand to grab at Hux’s.

Hux did, but slowly. Once again, he didn’t take orders from Ren. He watched as Ren uncapped the inkwell on his desk and maneuvered his thumb into it. The ink was tepid, thinner than he would have expected, but not entirely unpleasant. Ren’s fingers were tight around his wrist, though, like he was afraid he would lose him if he let go. Letting the excess ink drip off, Ren pressed Hux’s thumb to the blank paper, leaving a slightly blotchy black thumbprint behind. Still holding onto Hux, Ren looked down expectantly between his bare chest and arms. Waiting for the print to appear somewhere on his skin. A soulmark to match the one on Hux’s chest.

Ren’s anger returned, his lips parting in a growl, as it looked like nothing was going to happen, like his little experiment would be a failure. Hux hid a grimace as Ren’s fingers tightened painfully around his wrist. He wondered what would happen if the soulmark failed to appear; what would Ren do? Hux had a knife tucked into his sleeve like he always did, but would he be able to slip it free quickly enough? What would Snoke think or do if his general and his apprentice came to blows on the first day? If one killed the other? What would happen if someone killed their soulmate? _Were_ they actually soulmates?

Then, slowly, so slowly, a little mark began to bloom on Ren’s chest just above his left nipple. Yes, if he squinted, Hux believed it _did_ look like a thumbprint.

Ren crowed triumphantly. Hux squeezed his eyes shut against the sting of pain as his head hit the wall and Ren was kissing him again. Not as aggressively, but he still hadn’t bothered to ask. Hux supposed he could allow it, just this once.

\-----------------------------

Despite what Ren had argued, no, they did not both fit comfortably in his bed. Hux lay on his side, Ren wrapped around him like he was afraid of letting him go. But, well, he was warm, his clothes were strewn in a trail between the front room and the bed, and he didn’t have to be back in his quarters for another fifty-four minutes to begin his morning routine before his shift. Less if he showered here, but that would be gambling on Ren having actually stocked his shower yet. He sighed as Ren’s fingers traced sleepily over his soulmark like he still didn’t quite believe it. Ren had been, to put it politely, inexperienced, but surprisingly amenable to allowing himself to be guided. Hux thought he’d be willing to do this again. Ren needed the practice, after all.

“Mine,” Ren mumbled, somehow managing to pull Hux even closer.

“You wish,” Hux replied with a laugh.

“We’re soulmates, that means you’re mine,” Ren shot back, pressing his face into the curve of Hux’s neck.

“By that logic, I could claim ownership of you, too. Is that what you want?”

“Maybe,” Ren replied, the word audible but muffled.

Hux smirked to himself. Huh. Perhaps, with a little manipulation, this soulmates thing could work out in his favor after all.


End file.
